


Project Solstice: The Goddess of Thunder

by orphan_account



Series: Project Solstice [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asgard (Marvel), Female Loki (Marvel), Gen, Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 23:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20444414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "My name is Thrud. Daughter of Thor. Princess of New Asgard. Inheritor of Mjolnir, should I be found worthy. Someday, I will inherit the kingdom that my father and my father's father ruled before me, and the fate of my people will rest squarely on my shoulders. That is of little concern to me right now, though. Right now, I'm simply very, very cold."All of her life, Thrud has only known Jotunheim. Before she'd even been born, the people of Asgard had been forced to flee the tyranny of Hela's invasion of their homeland, settling in the cold reaches of the home of the Frost Giants and carving out a new life from ice and stone. Under the rule of the new King Thor, the people have survived and have thrived in their new land.But not everyone is content with the status quo....





	Project Solstice: The Goddess of Thunder

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you that have read my other Marvel work, Project Solsitce: The Stupendous Spider-Friends, this is a story that takes place in a Marvel Literary Universe I'm building around that one. This story bears absolutely no direct connection to the events of that one, though, and can be read on its own. A few later events might have some relevance to SSF, but nothing major. Anyway, here's The Goddess of Thunder. This story deviates strongly from most established versions of Thor, I believe, but it borrows heavily from many sources. So I suppose I'm picking and choosing my favorite details from other incarnations and mashing them all together with some original thoughts of my own as well. The story follows Thrud, daughter of Thor. Thrud is not called Torrun because I feel that name was a silly attempt to feminize Thor's name and add some sort of exotic spin to it, resulting in what is in fact a Turkish surname. Thrud is the anglicized version of Þrúðr, the actual name of Thor's daughter. So that's her name.
> 
> Anywho, enough of my rambling. Please read and enjoy.

The Chamber of Thunder wasn't actually called the Chamber of Thunder. In fact, there was no real name to it, simply because only a select few within the palace even knew of its existence. Father did, of course, as did Mother, myself (the one who had given it its unofficial name), and the dozen guards whose duty it was to guard the corridor leading up to it. But the average citizen of New Asgard, the palace staff, even the entirety of the royal court, none of them were to know of the nameless chamber hidden deep in the bowels of the royal House of Odin.

It was cold down here, cold enough that my breath misted before me. This deep in the mountain, windows were an impossibility, though there was little warmth to be coaxed in from outside even on what counted for a midsummer's day on Jotunheim. A late night such as this meant that the flagstone floors felt like ice cubes under my feet, even through my thick woolen socks. Strips of light along the corridor cast an insubstantial white glow over everything, reducing the guards to silhouettes looming through the semidarkness, their eyes glittering at me and tracking my progress toward my goal. They wouldn't stop me, though; I was to be let past at any time, no matter the hour.

Still, under their battle-hardened gazes, it was hard to feel like more than a little girl skulking along when Dad wasn't looking, sneaking in to gaze upon the majesty of his old weapon. Because how could it be anything but his? What could this hammer of myth and legend be besides a relic, a stepping stone of Father's rise to kingship?

In what universe could I be able to lift Mjolnir, to wield such unimaginable power in any capacity?

As I reached the door to the chamber, one of the guards eyeballed me, and for a moment, I thought I was going to finally be turned away, ushered back to bed and told to stop chasing such a dream. Go to bed, little girl, you're simply not ready. But never in all my years venturing down to this place had I actually been rebuffed.

After all, this was my birthright, for better or worse.

Inside, the room was actually quite simple, albeit almost inappropriately large for a single weapon. Inky blackness shrouded the edges and enclosed nearly the entire place, save for a single beam of light cast from the ceiling down onto a perfectly square stone pedestal. And upon the pedestal, handle sticking straight up, sat the instrument of my destiny.

Mjolnir's simplistic design was almost incongruous when the tales of its triumphs and the amazing feats wrought with it were taken into account. A simple rectangular head made from the mythical metal uru sat atop a leather-wrapped handle with a single wrist strap right at the pommel. The edges of the head were beveled, and the longer sides on the left and right bore the triquetra symbol that spoke of the weapon's enchanted property.

The power of thunder. The power of Thor, if the ancient enchantment spoken by the All-Father was to be believed. If I peeked close enough, I may even have been able to read the words circling the triquetra.

'_Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor.'_

And it was expected of _me_ to take up this power, to be Asgard's defender against all things that would undo us. That, _that_ was my birthright, a life fending off threats to the kingdom. Because I'd been born the daughter of Thor Odinson and Lady Sif instead of, say, two random farmers on the edges of New Asgard or even a couple of the elves on Alfheim.

Not that I'm bitter about my circumstances or anything. Not at all.

In fact, I would say the bitterest of thoughts bouncing around in my brain was the fact that, try as I might, I just couldn't seem to lift the damn thing.

But maybe tonight would be different. Maybe whatever mental block had been keeping me from actually hefting the mythical maul from its pedestal had cleared away, and I would finally be able to confront whatever future awaited me beyond the actual act of just…picking up this thing.

Reaching up, I wrapped my fingers around the handle, and there came the familiar feeling, like I'd taken hold of a tornado or a bolt of lightning. The ancient, primordial power was stewing just beneath the surface, feeling like it was going to suck me in or overtake me or something. But I could already tell, before I even made an attempt to lift Mjolnir, that that power was still out of reach, behind a barrier as thick as whatever mental block was in my head. Without even attempting to lift it, I lowered my hand with a sigh, staring for a long moment at this…damnable weapon.

"You didn't even try," a familiar voice spoke, causing me to jolt at the suddenness of the broken silence. I turned, and there he was, standing in the doorway wrapped in a thick dressing gown with his long blond locks falling over his shoulders, in danger of disappearing into his beard. Even dressed so casually, though, Thor all but oozed regality. The way he carried himself, the way each step seemed swift yet perfectly measured, he wore every one of the thousands of years he had spent as a warrior of the highest order, bringing the very hammer I just gave up trying to lift crashing down on Asgard's foes.

"Father," I breathed, and I had to quash the feeling of being caught out doing something I shouldn't have been; I was perfectly within my right to be here, and indeed, Father would sometimes harp on me if I _didn't _visit the chamber once in a while. As for what he was doing here, it was a silly question. No doubt, the guards had sent word of my midnight escapade through the network.

"You didn't even try," Father repeated, nodding at the hammer. "You aren't going to at least give it a shot?"

"I…well," I faltered for a moment, trying to put to words what had been going through my head. But how did one explain an all-consuming feeling of inadequacy? How was I supposed to accurately describe the utter hopelessness I felt when I even thought about attempting to lift Mjolnir and all of the responsibilities it brought along with it?

"It's a heady responsibility," Father said, showing his usual talent for simply reading the emotions right off my face. I'd always been rather expressive, to my everlasting annoyance; the usual childhood mischief was difficult when one's mother could simply see the guilt radiating off of one's expression.

"It felt…like there was a wall," I finally admitted. "That's how it's always feels. I can feel the power, I can…tell it's right there. But there's something blocking me. I know it probably doesn't make any sense - "

"Oh, no, it makes perfect sense," Father nodded. "I felt the same thing for the longest time when your grandfather first put the enchantment on Mjolnir and tossed me to Midgard to learn how to be worthy."

"And you met a mortal woman, fell for her, and realized that your love could never be because you would outlive her by millenia and would be too distracted by your duties to even see her a lot," I said, and Father smiled ruefully down at me.

"Have I told you this one before?" he asked.

"Only seven thousand times," I sighed.

"It used to be your favorite bedtime story," Father told me wistfully. "The journey to Midgard, helping the Americans in their battle against the tyrannical forces of the British Empire - "

"And risking your life against the Sons of Muspelheim to ensure the safety of the Americans," I concluded for him. "Marching into a field of fire and telling the soldiers to fall back while you handled it. And the hammer found you, and you were worthy once more."

"Have I told you this one before?" he asked again, and I rolled my eyes at him.

"Only seven thousand and one times, Father," I said.

"Well, it _used _to be your favorite bedtime story," Father reminded me. "Speaking of bedtime, I think it's a bit late for the princess to be out and about. Why don't you get some sleep?"

"Could…I try one more time?" I asked, self-conscious about giving up so easily now that Father was watching. "Maybe I'll get it this time."

Father wordlessly gestured at the hammer with a smile, and I turned to stare it down once more. Gulping, I reached out to wrap my hand around the handle, thinking of Father facing an army of fire giants with only the clothes on his back and a steadfast determination. Could I do that? Did I have that kind of courage buried somewhere deep? If I did, I sure wished it would make its way to the surface.

I was getting a bit tired of constantly falling short of everyone's expectations.

But as I attempted to lift the infernal thing, it stayed resolutely on its pedestal, refusing to even so much as budge. I pulled, yanked, even grasping it with both hands and bracing my feet on the pedestal, but all I succeeded in doing was sliding out of my slippers, wincing at the cold stone underfoot until I could wiggle my toes back into the warmth.

"But I'm ready!" I finally shouted, my voice echoing around the chamber. "I'm…tired of always _failing_!"

I wasn't aware of the fact that I'd dropped to my knees until I felt Father lifting me into his arms, and in the moment, I simply couldn't muster the energy to feel embarrassed that I-a nearly-adult princess of Asgard-was being carted to bed like a little girl who'd stayed up to late and was having a tantrum. Father did tactfully allow me back onto my feet as we emerged from the Chamber of Thunder, so as to save face in front of the guards. They watched us as impassively as ever, showing no outward reaction to my outburst, though they most definitely heard it, and I was sure to be the subject of the occasional chat in the mess hall tomorrow. The Princess of Asgard, the would-be Goddess of Thunder, cracking under the pressure of her future.

Because that seemed to be all I did.

Father was silent until we reached my bedchambers, where he turned and reached to place his massive hands on my shoulders, giving me a squeeze.

"Why can't I lift it, Father?" I asked, hating how choked my voice sounded, how difficult it was to talk around the lump in my throat. "I've been trying for so long, and…I've never even budged it."

"Well, you wouldn't _budge _Mjolnir," Father said with a slight frown. "You're either worthy or not, you can't just be a _little_ worthy and move it slightly. That would just be ridiculous, wouldn't it?"

I giggled a bit at the almost offended tone in his voice, like he was defending his old friend's honor. Father cracked a smile at that, a boyish grin that made it plainly obvious how he'd managed to woo the tough-as-stone Lady Sif in their younger years. He could be truly charming at times.

"There is no shame in failure," Father went on. "Failure gives us a chance to look inward and confront our shortcomings. Each time you go down there, and each time you find yourself rejected, you must learn from it."

"But what am I learning?" I asked him. "What shortcomings am I to confront?"

"I don't know," he said with a shrug. "That's something that you need to find out for yourself. Someday, it will all just click."

"I've been waiting for this click for over a decade now," I grumbled, turning to step into my chambers. Behind me, I heard a chuckle, and I could just see the knowing smile on Father's face, the unbearable confidence. He just _knew_ that I would get this someday, and somehow that made every failure so much more poignant. "Goodnight, Father."

"Sleep well, my daughter," he said behind me. "Oh, by the way. You're off to your cousin's tomorrow for magic lessons. I think she misses you."

Before I even had a chance to process the statement, my door was soundly shut, leaving me crawling back into the warmth of my covers while I could enjoy it. It was to be a cold morning, apparently.

"Oh, great," I grumbled.

…_..._

_My name is Thrud. Daughter of Thor. Princess of New Asgard. Inheritor of Mjolnir, should I be found worthy. Someday, I will inherit the kingdom that my father and my father's father ruled before me, and the fate of my people will rest squarely on my shoulders._

_That is of little concern to me right now, though. Right now, I'm simply very, very cold._

…...

"Byl?"

"Yes?"

"I'm very, very cold."

"You've mentioned this before."

Byl's mountainous form continued to lumber along through the snow before me, every long stride of his covering as much ground as three of mine. He was a massive blue slab of a man, his broad back and thick shoulders strapped with furs and leathers from his various kills across the icy plains of Jotunheim. He was an absolute testament of the powerful potential of a Frost Giant, and he was also my best friend.

And on this particular day, he was my travelling partner.

"Byl?"

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"Don't call me that. I'm very, very cold."

"If only you regarded me as less of a confidant," Byl sighed. "Then you would have to keep up your royal facade even around me and not be quite as insufferable."

"But then you would still be a simple stable boy and unable to go on such adventures," I said, smiling brightly at him, and he turned to regard me with amusement.

"You mean trekking across the frozen hellscape that saw the deaths of thousands of my ancestors at the hands of the Sons of Muspelheim?" he asked. "At least we aren't passing through the Plains of Laufeysfall. Or is that our picnic destination next week?"

"Actually, I was thinking the Alterfire Volcano seemed lovely this time of year," I told him. "Maybe you'll melt down to size of a newborn and I can cart you back in my backpack again?"

"My humiliation never ends," Byl grumbled. "Perhaps we should - "

He was instantly still and silent as a glacier, holding an arm out to stop me. I did my best to hold steady as well, but no Asgardian could become as motionless as a Jotun. For seconds that felt like hours, the only sound was the icy wind that cut through my layers of leather and fur like they weren't even there, and I had to force my mind away from thoughts of warm hearths and hot cider to focus on the task at hand.

It wouldn't do to be distracted with a snow troll on the prowl.

"Where?" I asked, no louder than the wind.

"Behind us," Byl said. "Just one, but he's a big fella. Now!"

Immediately, I spun and yanked my blade from where it was sheathed at my side as a shower of snow burst from the ground behind us. For a moment, the attacking beast's pristine fur gave the impression of a feral snowdrift, but as the mist of flakes dissipated, limbs coalesced, as well as teeth.

There were a lot of teeth.

A horrific growling sounded, and I felt a massive hand latch around my arm, pulling me hard enough that my feet lifted out of the snow. I was spun to a landing, staggering and just managing to avoid toppling into a nearby drift. By the time I was aware of the world around me again, I heard a massive collision as Byl strong-armed the troll before it could get another snap at me.

"Thrud, the eyes!" Byl shouted.

"On it!" I nodded, gripping my sword and running at the two of them. Still grappling the creature, Byl managed to turn them so that his vast blue back was to me, and I hurtled toward the pair, icy air burning my lungs as I hauled myself forward at top speed. Hopping up, I vaulted off of Byl's back, sailing through the air and aiming my sword straight down as I descended.

A troll's skin is tough, nearly as tough as a Jotun's, and their fur is thick and coarse on top of that. Add that to bones denser than rocks and you have a creature that is really hard to put down. The only soft spot they have is their eyes, a cluster of four of them arranged haphazard under their foreheads. One good stab right in them, and you could turn an exhausting drag of a battle into a minutes-long skirmish.

_Shnk!_

The troll didn't even make a sound as my blade sank into its skull, as easily as a knife through butter to use a tired cliche. The beast's body twitched once, twice, before staggering back and falling into the snow. One final gargling gasp released from its lungs, and only then did I pull my blade free with a sickening wet noise.

"Well, that's one," I said, getting back to my feet. "Are you alright?"

"I'm going to need a bath once we get back," Byl said distastefully as he used a spare bit of cloth to wipe his arms down. "Troll fur is so…oily."

"It's nice they're getting some affection before they go," I told him with a smile. "That's probably the only hug that troll ever got."

"And still my torment continues," Byl sighed.

…...

_Cousin Loki is not actually my cousin. Father is quite fond of her, though, and in the spirit of amicability with the remaining Jotun-the ones that survived the Jotun-Asgardian War and were willing to let a displaced Asgardian people make a home here-our families are quite close. Father believes I should get a well-rounded education, so in addition to my usual time with my tutors and combat training with Volstagg, I get sent over once in a while to learn a thing or two about the more…pragmatic forms of combat, as well as some basic illusory magic._

_It's also admittedly quite fun to spend time with Loki, whose parents have been dead for a few millenia (which she herself insists is no great loss), leaving her in charge of all of the Frost Giants and with a really amazing palace all to herself._

_Including, of course, the private underground hot springs where we spend some fairly lengthy meditative sessions._

…_..._

"So, how has your father been?" Loki asked as she reclined back in the warm water, looking as effortlessly beautiful as always. Her curly black hair spilled over her shoulders and billowed in the water around her, and her ice blue eyes seemed to glow in the candlelit darkness. She looked rather like me in coloration, absent some freckling across my face and arms. But no, she had gotten the flawless, smooth complexion that was pale as any Asgardian, despite her Frost Giant lineage. A relic of a past life, according to her, that had been a source of contention to quite a few of the royal court during her taking of the throne following her parents' demise. After a few brutally failed attempts to depose her, however, any would-be usurpers had been soundly sent scurrying back to the shadows, leaving Loki to usher in an era of peace between Jotun and Asgardian.

"He's well," I said with a shrug. "Restless. He's a warrior-king with no war to fight."

"That sounds about right," Loki said with a fond smile. "In the past, when he had the Bifrost, it was simple enough to hop over to Alfheim or Vanaheim and go on an adventure or two, slay some barbarians and then come back and drink himself comatose."

"I imagine he pulled you into these adventures more often than not?" I asked, watching as Loki's expression turned quietly pensive, and I was reminded of the fact that despite looking only slightly older than me, Loki had a few centuries on me for age, having been born not long before the Jotun-Asgardian War.

"Actually, I…have no recollection of my past life as his brother," she said. "Only that I was once Loki, God of Mischief, and that I was one of the first to fall to Hela. I suppose I should be honored; she killed me personally, I'm told."

"Father doesn't talk much of the Old Days," I said. "Mother says it makes him…melancholy."

"I imagine so," Loki sighed, drawing shapes in the water. I didn't even realize she was conjuring a little spell until the water flowed straight upward and out of the spring, forming into quite a detailed replica of Asgard, floating inches above the surface. I only recognized it from pictures in the few history books that had been salvaged, having never been there myself. "It was…a kingdom unlike any other. Joyous, perfect, free of strife, of hunger, of pain. Led by the indomitable and unwavering All-Father, Odin. Why shouldn't Thor yearn for days past?"

"It sounds like paradise," I said in a quiet voice, and Loki smiled sadly.

"Well, it's no Valhalla, to be sure," she said. "But it's lovely. Or…rather, it was."

She merely twitched a finger, and the water fell back to the spring with a muted splash.

"Even if we should ever reclaim Asgard, I fear Thor will be disappointed to find that he can't simply settle back into his old life," she said. "He is, irrevocably, King of Asgard. When he gets back, if he ever does, there will be a throne to fill, a kingdom to oversee, nine realms desperately in need of order."

"He's led us well so far," I said defensively, and Loki smiled, patting my hand softly.

"I know that he's a capable ruler," she assured me. "He has done extremely well leading his people through a tumultuous time. I only hope he can contend with the fact that the Asgard waiting for him is not the one he left behind."

She offered up another sad sort of smile, but as abruptly as only Loki was capable, it was a grin, and she stood up with complete disregard of the eyeful of her nude body this action provided me. Fortunately (or unfortunately), this was nothing new to me.

Loki had little in the way of modesty.

"Anyway," she said briskly, climbing out of the spring and padding across the stone floor of the cave, "that's enough talk about such depressing things. Would you like to learn a bit about water sculpture? It's a great way to go over a battle plan without leaving traces of strategic maps and whatnot."

She poured two glasses of wine, making her way back over and sinking back into the water.

"In the art of magic, at least, there is no teaching aid quite as effective as a glass of wine," she said, passing one to me. "Let's get started."

…...

Three glasses of wine later, I was feeling a bit of a buzz, though Loki had been right. It was much easier to wrap my head around the concept of forming water into small but intricate shapes when my mind felt as though it was flowing like the stuff.

It might have been best to stay for dinner and give myself a chance to sober up before departing for home.

"How are things coming along with the hammer?" Loki asked quite suddenly as I was working on my next piece, and my finger dipped a bit too far, pressing into the top of a watery recreation of the palace library, which splished back into the spring. Sighing, I simply shrugged, settling back against the side of the small pool and sipping at my glass.

"I went last night to try to pick it up," I told her. "Didn't budge. Just…sat there and mocked me."

"I highly doubt Mjolnir was mocking you," Loki said with a grin. "Maybe egging you on, but not mocking."

"You say that like it's a creature or something," I pointed out, and Loki's smile only widened.

"I've no doubt the hammer has some sentience," she said. "It contains the power of a cosmic storm that had been raging for eons before Odin trapped it in a hunk of uru, the very storm that gave birth to Thunder itself. It was forged in the heart of a dying star using ancient magicks known only to the dwarves of Nidavellir. And it was personally enchanted by the All-Father to a number of ends, including deciding who is worthy to wield it. There has to be something going on there."

"I just wish I could talk to it or something, then," I muttered, twisting an orb of water between my fingers and shaping it into a small colosseum. "If there's some primordial brain in there."

"Well…what would you say to it?" Loki asked me, and the construct hovering in front of me melted once more as I was caught up a bit short by the question.

"I…don't really know," I admitted with a half-shrug. "'Tell me what I have to do to pick you up already.'?"

"Well, if it was that easy, there'd be no point to the enchantment," Loki chuckled. "The lesson doesn't mean anything if it's so straightforward."

"Lesson?"

"Of course," Loki said with a smile. "It's not a countdown or some arbitrary qualifier that needs to be met. You need to learn something about yourself, understand what worthiness is. The hammer is a lesson. You need to let it teach you."

"Teach me what?" I asked, and Loki smiled warmly at me.

"When you figure that out, you'll be worthy."

…...

"Did you enjoy your bath?" Byl asked flatly as we trudged through a cold that seemed to bite twice as hard after the warmth of the hot spring. I loved visits with my cousin, really I did.

The commute left much to be desired, was all.

"It was more than just a bath, I learned a magical skill that will doubtless come in handy someday, and I enjoyed a meaningful discussion with someone who's like family to me," I insisted. "And the bath was lovely."

"Soaking in hot water," Byl said distastefully. "Why your kind insist on boiling yourselves like the night's stew is beyond me."

"It feels good to warm up," I told him. "And it cleans us off."

"So does cold water," Byl said, and I shook my head.

"I'm afraid we'll have to disag - "

Again, I cut off when a hand was thrust out in front of me, stopping me dead in the snow. Another troll? No, we were well inside the royal patrols; they never wandered this close to the castle.

"Wha - "

"Sh," Byl cut me off. "Do you hear that?"

I listened, and after a moment, my ears picked it up. Over the low howl of the wind through the mountains, a humming whine like nothing I'd ever heard before grew steadily louder and louder, and we looked skyward as it became apparent that it was coming from above us.

That was the moment we saw the ship.

It looked small-probably a cruiser meant for a crew no larger than five or six people-with swooping, angular wings that were currently doing their level best to slow what looked like an extremely rapid descent. Every thruster was on full reverse, adding to a deafening roar that shook the snow around us and kicked up a small blizzard as it neared us. Before I could think about the fact that we were far too close, Byl had swept me up in his arms and was hurrying away at a full run.

A Jotun could _move_ when he needed to.

_Whump-BOOOOM!_

The impact sent a shockwave along the snow, and there was a groaning metallic creak as the ship's underbelly gouged out a huge trench in the frozen dirt beneath it. Luckily, Byl had thought to run out of its path rather than attempt to outpace it. He slowed to a stop and turned to observe the wreckage, settling me back on my feet.

"Odin's beard," I breathed out. Suddenly, my earlier assessment of the ship as small seemed ridiculous; it was anything but. This close, it towered over us both, dwarfing even the New Asgardian mead hall. The hull was painted a bright orange color with yellow and blue designs stylishly placed along it, and it bore a registration number as well as a name, the _Keystone_.

"They must be a long way from home," Byl said as I hurried toward the ship. "Hey, hold on! We don't know if they're friendly or not!"

He had a point, but I simply couldn't bring myself to slow my approach; this was the first contact with anything or anyone from beyond Jotunheim in…centuries! This was a lifeline to the outside world, to the _universe_! Was it a roguish space pirate? A travelling merchant far off the beaten path? Perhaps a deep-space adventurer on the way to a lost temple tucked on some long-forgotten planet to find treasure?

Whoever it was sure wouldn't be going anywhere with their ship in this state. Hopefully we had the facilities to repair it.

Rounding the tail-end of the ship, I watched as the rear hatch let a whining hiss and lowered, stopping several feet above the bottom of the trench the ship had left in its wake. Seconds later, two…people disembarked. The phrase qualified loosely, as I could reconcile the pair with nothing other than a humanoid tree and a rabbit. The tree…smiled at me, though, raising an arm-branch in a friendly wave, and the rabbit (who walked on its hindquarters, I should mention) chided it in a growling, masculine voice.

"Don't wave to them, you idiot, you look like a damn tourist," he said. The rabbit was talking.

"I am Groot?"

"Does this _look _like a vacation spot to you!?" the rabbit shouted.

"Byl?"

"Yes, it's talking," Byl said, approaching behind me.

"Okay, it's not just me."

"Hey there," the rabbit said to them as the pair drew closer. "I'm Rocket. This is Groot."

"I am Groot," the tree said pleasantly.

"We're looking for Queen Loki of, uh…Jotunheim," Rocket went on, reading from a holographic display emitting from a wrist-mounted device. "And maybe someone to fix our ship."


End file.
